Page 101 of Feeding Hope
“Is there a book that explains everything?” She asked, concerned about lacing her voice. It made her nervous to say yes to something she had knew nothing about.
Frost chuckled; there was one—just one. “There is one, I’d have to ask where it is. Faith made it after she married Maddog.”
“I promise to think about what you asked me, but I’d like to read the handbook.”
Frost pulled her back down to him; he pulled the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and spread it over them. He’d asked, now he’d have to be patient while Constance thought it over.
Chapter Seventeen.
Two weeks later
Constance threw her head back and laughed as Faith and Undertakers ol’ lady attempted to get her on stage to dance on a pole. There was no way in hell she’d get up there.Everyone knew they had husbands, and ol’ men. But she hadn’t made up her mind yet about being labeled an ol’lady.
By the time the sun dipped low, the party was already half out of control. It was the kind of gathering where someone’s truck stereo had been claimed as the DJ and nobody bothered arguing about the playlist.Country bled into classic rock, Lynyrd Skynyrd followed by Fifty-cent, the bass thumping just enough to rattle the windows of the clubhouse and shake loose a few old memories along with it.
String lights were hung back and forth across the rafters, along with being strung across the yard and porch, glowing warm and yellow as dusk settled in. Folding tables sagged under aluminum trays of food—barbequed beef, fried chicken, mac and cheese, potato salad made from someone’s mama’s recipe and fiercely defended. Red Solo cups were everywhere; some already marked with Sharpie names that were slowly being crossed out as the night went on.
The women were loud, unapologetic, and already halfway buzzed. Denim and sundresses, leather vests slung over chairbacks, boots kicked off in favor of bare feet in the grass. Laughter cracked sharp and reckless, the kind that made heads turn and men wisely keep their distance. Someone howled when a bottle popped open. Someone else climbed onto a picnic table to finish a story that had gotten interrupted three times already.
Peaches, the birthday girl was in the thick of it, getting hugged hard enough to steal her breath, her drink constantly refilled whether she asked for it or not. She wore the kind of smile that came from being surrounded by her people—women who’d bled together, cried together, and thrown punches when it mattered.
Every toast was half-sincere, half-profane, filled with “remember when” and “ain’t nobody else like her.”
At some point, the cake showed up—slightly crooked, candles shoved in at odd angles, frosting already smeared where someone had tested it with a finger.
The singing was loud, off-key, and aggressive, complete with clapping, whooping, and one woman yelling. “Take a shot!” before the last note even finished.
By the time the night deepened, the yard was a mess of empty cups, abandoned shoes, and women leaned together in lawn chairs, arms slung over shoulders. The music kept playing, the laughter never fully died down, and the stars overhead watched it all—another party at the clubhouse night where love showed up loud, messy, and loyal as hell.
Constance hung closely by Faith and Grace while she waited for Frost to come out of his meeting.
*****
Frost sat in the metal folded chair, his natural casual position as always with his legs stretched out his arms crossed over his well-muscled chest. He listened as the minutes from the last meeting were read.
Adjusting in the chair he listened as the topic of Tiny and Booger came up. Everyone agreed that there was more to just the two of the rustling cattle. So, they were still digging into who was behind the whole thing. Undertaker let the room know that all cattle had been returned to the rightful owners. The one bull they were all glad they got back was Sweet Disaster. The bull was a prize bucking bull and worth a small fortune.
When all the old business was finished and the meeting was about to be called, Undertaker asked if there was any new business. Frost raised his hand.
“Frost, you got something brother?” Undertaker asked him, curious what the nomad had to say.
Getting to his feet, Frost laid everything out. “I’d like the chapter to know I’m remaining in the area. But I don’t wanna change my status within the club.”
The way things sat, he only answered to the national president and the veep. He liked it that way. He had a great relationship with Cornelius and the other members in the national chapter in Tennessee.
It wasn’t really new business; it was more like him making them aware of what he decided.
“If anyone has a problem with this, speak up.” Undertaker put it out there where the chapter members could have a say. When no one had an issue with it, he called the meeting.
It was put in that Frost was remaining a nomad and would continue to answer to the national chapter, but he’d be residing in Broken Bow.
When he called the meeting, it was the scraping of chairs, boots thudding across the floor as the doors flew open letting in the chaos of the birthday party.
Maddog slapped him on the back, “let’s go find our women.”
“And a beer.” Undertaker said his voice was laced with humor at hearing and seeing the party in full swing.
They both grabbed Frost as they all made their way out of church welcoming him to the area. The trio was halfway to the bar when Frost spotted Constance standing by the pool table speaking with a patched member that he didn’t know very well.
